Remember: Alex and Aro (boyxboy)

Chapter 27

January, 2017, 7 months ago.

"Good morning, Mr. Danvers." A bright and cheerful voice awakes me and I roll over on my side, facing the cell bars. 'They're here, Alex. We're getting locked up.' Richard's voice is urgent, a harsh hissing in my ear and I feel a shock at how worried he sounds.

I slowly straighten up, stretching my arms upwards, yawning. The man is tall with dark, but greying hair, and is wearing a white long coat, with a lanyard around his neck, the badge displaying an unfamiliar logo.

'He's one of them. He's a psychiatrist. They're taking us.' Richard groans, afraid and I bring my knees up, pressing back against the grimy wall. The man makes no sign of showing whether he's aware of my conversation with Richard or not.

He flashes a supposed to be calming smile, and steps forward. "My name is Graham Phillips. I work at the hospital."
'Asylum.' Richard intercepts, voice regaining his harsh and angry tone though it's wasted as Dr. Phillips can't hear him.

"You're taking me to Volterra. Why Italy?" I enquire, my voice unsure and fear evident. Dr. Phillips ducks his head, embarrassed and I wonder what his deal is. "A very rich Italian man paid for me to send you there. Your uncle, Robert." He adds further though I make no recollection.

'You don't have an uncle called Robert.' Richard points out and I wonder about replying but Dr. Phillips is watching me closely, for any sign that I may be talking to someone other than him.

"Okay." I shrug, eventually, but Dr. Phillips doesn't seem convinced. "You do know Robert don't you?" He checks and I nod enthusiastically, doing my best to look sincere. "Yeah, he's my...dad's brother. Half brother." I add, blathering on but he seems to swallow the story.

I sigh in relief, and my eyes close momentarily. 'Shit acting, idiot.' Richard snarks with a laugh and I allow a small smile at his comment.

"Fuck off." I hiss when the doctor turns away. "I'm going to Italy and that's all that matters."

            *****************
"I have your passport, Mr. Danvers. And your paperwork." Dr. Phillips hands me the burgundy leather passport, and I flip it open. An unattractive photo from at least three years before is in the corner, my face unsmiling.

'Shit, that's an ugly photo.' Richard chuckles as he sees it and I resist the urge to scream at him. Cheeky little bastard. The rest of it is okay; My name and date of birth. Sex, place of birth and so on. But that photo. I'm pretty sure I was drunk when it was taken.

I retrieve the paperwork from him and unfold it. "We'll be needing a newer photo for the hospital records." He informs me, as I scan the sheet. "Paitent #3871? Why can't I just be called Alex?" I outrage and Dr. Phillips sighs at me.

"It's just to keep track of your records. Every paitent has a number." He assures and I sigh at the papers, shoving them into his hands. "Whatever, let's get going." I sigh and Richard mumbles quietly; 'Let's go to the loony bin.'

The drive from the airport is short and we soon pull up outside a three storey building, securely locked by heavy forbidding gates. Dr. Phillips winds down his window and swipes a card across the monitor by the gate and they open, slowly, reluctantly, creaking from age and I sigh.

They're less willing than I am.

He parks his car outside the door and out of nowhere, two men in white uniforms arrive at my side of the car. I panic as they open the door and sling me out. I land on the floor, gasping, the air knocked out of me for a second.

The two uniformed men clutch at me, hauling me onto my feet so quickly, I see stars. "Jesus." I stagger forwards but their heavy grasp stops me from falling flat on my face.

I keep hoping that maybe this is a dream. That I'm not about to spend God knows how long in an asylum for my brother's death. However, the two guards keep hauling ne towards the entrance and Dr. Phillips is still trailing behind us.

As we quickly pass the sign, I get a glimpse of the chipped lettering: Volterra's Mental Asylum. Nope, this isn't a dream. Fuck this shit.

The metal doors open with a beep, revealing the corridor, full of bustling nurses and receptionists behind desks. Men and women who are clearly visitors, perch uneasily on uncomfortable plastic chairs in a tiny waiting area.

There is noise, but everyone looks miserable.

'Well this is an asylum, idiot.' Richard snarks and I smirk almost. True true, Richard. Dr. Phillips marches over to the desk. "Boun promeriggio." He addresses the dark receptionist who smiles and starts typing at her computer, putting whatever Phillips is saying into the records.

She presses a few keys until a whirring sound starts and something is ejected by the printer. She collects it and hands it to Phillips who passes it into my hand. "This is your I.D lanyard." He goes to put it around my neck, but I step out of his reach, hand open. "Give it here. I can put it on myself." I snap, lowering it over my head.

"There. Take me to my room."

Fucking hell. What a room. 'It's actually not that bad.' Richard tries sympathising with me. That's how bad this situation is. Forget killing Carl or Dad leaving. This is the most shittest thing I've ever had to face. The room is sterile, white. It screams hospital, not home. "Home sweet fucking home." I grunt, slumping onto the bed while I wait for clothes to be sent in.

I notice the other door, and head over, opening it to find the bathroom, and sighing in relief. "Thank fuck. I couldn't share with lunatics. They probably don't know personal hygiene." I scoff, automatically washing my hands at the notice of fresh soap.

'Don't act like you're any different. You're a lunatic too. You're worthless now, Alex. Time to get used to it.' Richard scoffs sadly, his sighs deep and troubled.

"I've brought you into this. I'm sorry." I sigh, drying my hands on the towel, before testing out the bed. It creaks under my weight. 'Well, you are pretty fat." Richard laughs and I groan. "Fuck yerself. You ain't too pretty either." I retort and Richard's laughs increase.

"You haven't even see me before. You don't know what I look like." He counters and I slump, defeated. He always knows what to say. The door opens and Dr. Phillips waltzes in with a smile, clutching a bundle of clothes. He lowers them into my lap.

"You can out them away in the drawer over there." He points and I follow his gaze before inspecting the clothes. White t-shirts, white pants, trousers, socks. The only familiar thing are my checkered pyjamas.

I'd kill them if they took them from me. 'Calm down, Alex. You've already killed one person.' Richard cackles and I'm reminded of why I'm here. I killed Carl. My student. My brother. Olive's golden boy. And now I'm here in Italy.

This isn't a holiday, this is my sentence.

Oh, Carl. What have I done?